


Mystery Brother

by Sherlock1110



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Marriage, Protective Big Brother Mycroft, established relationships - Freeform, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-08-14 03:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7997770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys are in a long standing relationship with their respective partners and Mystrade have a daughter. When Sherlock injures his ankle on a case who is the mysterious man that turns up at 221B and what does he really want?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sherlockian4evr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/gifts).



> I had originally taken this down because of some remarks made a while ago. In a mad fit I deleted it, intending to forget about it completely. But of course, with season 4 coming up, my brilliant beta, sherlockian4evr wouldn't let me lose it completely. So this time round, I'm dedicating it to her for sticking by me once again.

All John could say was that it had been one hell of a day, despite the fact it had only just gone 4. He was just glad his lover was going to be ok and was nearly just as glad to be home. Baker Street was safe from all the monsters and mayhem of their everyday lives out in London. At least he hoped it was. 

He slouched in his usual chair with a deep and meaningful sigh, managing to not take his eyes off Sherlock who looked as if he had come out of a blender even though Mycroft had dropped fresh clothes off at the hospital.

"I'll put the kettle on, shall I?" Greg asked, following his own lover in. He seemed to be the only one willing to remain on his feet.

"Wonderful idea, Gregory," Mycroft turned to kiss him briefly before taking a seat on the sofa and laying his umbrella down on the floor.

"Are you trying to kill me, brother-mine?" Sherlock asked lightly, indicating with a tilt of his head the umbrella laid on the floor. "Trip hazard." He followed the older Holmes and boyfriend over to where they were sat, slightly slower, given the crutches he was having to rely on. It was quite comical, given his usual athleticism. 

"Of course not, Sherlock." He spoke honestly. "How's it feeling now?" Anybody else would be surprised at the question coming from the British Government, but the members in 221B knew better.

He slouched down onto John's lap when he patted his thigh in a wordless invitation. He knew if he hadn't invited Sherlock to his lap he would have taken it anyway, at least this way it appeared as if the doctor was in control of the situation. "It's bloody sore to be honest, but I know," he held his hands up in consternation after he ditched the crutches on the floor, "I deserve it."

"Too right you do, you moron," Greg appeared at the door to the kitchen with a tray in his hands.

"I would help, Greg, but this lump took a seat. On me."

"You told me to," he muttered. "And anyway, how was I to know the bus would pull out?"

"You're lucky you were hit by the bus and not a vehicle already at speed," Mycroft pointed out, his usual mask of impassiveness tended not to be around when it was just the four of them. They all knew each other too well and whenever Mycroft tried it, Greg would do something ridiculously annoying until he dropped the act. 

Mycroft had never imagined he would be so close to his little brother again. They'd grown up close and then drifted apart, events throughout their childhood and then Sherlock going into rehab controlling the way they aged. But now it was like they were children again. He also hadn't thought that he would ever be married, let alone to the man he had practically grown up with. Even more surprising, was the fact that his little brother, the one who could never keep a friend and despised being social even more than he did, was also happily married.

"I never thought I would hear the day when my brother tells me I am lucky to be hit by a bus."

"You are also lucky your partner in crime is a doctor."

Sherlock gazed up at said partner as Greg arranged the mugs on the table and he grinned. "I choose my boyfriends well."

Mycroft choked on air as Sherlock leaned up to kiss the older man, embarrassment definitely not an emotion expressed in either of them. The older brother turned and distracted himself with kissing his own DI who had collapsed onto the sofa beside him.

The four were so distracted with one another, they didn't hear the footfalls on the stairs get gradually louder or the knock on the already open door to the flat.

"Coowee."

"Greg, you left the door open!" John snapped as he blushed when Mrs. Hudson appeared. In her hands was a big basket of what looked like cakes and biscuits.

***

"Oh, Sherlock. You are a sight for sore eyes," she said in that motherly tone John had grown to love, despite the fact the four of them had been caught in a snogging competition by the landlady. She was eyeing him up and down as if assessing the damage and she had caught sight of the black brace that ran up his left foot and toward his knee.

"Just a sprain, Mrs. Hudson."

"Nothing 'just' about it, young man."

"What I said, Mrs. Hudson," Mycroft agreed with the older women. "It could have been a lot worse."

"I have already said it was not my fault the bus pulled out!"

"It was your fault you ran out in front of it though, you prat." John dug his fingers into the detective's side and he yelped rather high pitched.

"Girl."

"Shut up, Myc! I'm still high on drugs."

"At least they are not recreational!"

"When will you let that drop? It was 12 years ago. I was a troubled youth!"

"You'll be a troubled man if you think about hurting yourself like that again."

They all turned to look at Mrs. Hudson who was watching the 'banter' between the brothers with something that looked like pride.

Sherlock looked around as if looking for something.

"'Lock? What is it?"

The detective glanced at his brother, frowning and wondering why he hadn't thought of it sooner, "Where's Millie?"

The older Holmes brother couldn't help but smirk at his concern for his 9 year old daughter. 

"Donovan's collecting her from school," Greg answered for Mycroft, knowing if he left it to the government official, the only response would be snarky and sarcastic. "It was obviously going to be a long afternoon. Mycroft phoned Sally while I was busy with you to let her know that we would no doubt be late because of you walking out in front of a bus!"

He smiled sheepishly just as they heard the door go downstairs, then the sound of footsteps and Millie charged in.

"Uncle Sherlock!" She ran over and stood in front of him it was clear she wanted to leap on top of his lap, but she restrained herself. "Sally said you broke your foot."

"Well, Sally is a moron-"

"-Sherlock!" John interrupted with a smack on his thigh, he would never learn to keep his mouth shut.

He winked at his niece, she knew what he was up to. "I have hurt it, yes, but nothing's broken and it will all be fixed soon."

"How soon?" She asked cautiously. Millie enjoyed running around with Sherlock when her dads came to Baker Street. 

"Oh, charming. My brother gets the attention before me."

"Uh-oh," Greg muttered as their daughter turned, grinned and jumped on the pair of them eliciting an 'umph'. She'd wanted to initially do that to Sherlock, but the bus incident had saved him. 

"You're 9 and heavier than me," Greg ground out. She poked her tongue out at him and settled more comfortably on Mycroft's lap. Mycroft stuck his nose into the back of her neck so she squeaked. 

Mrs. Hudson was smiling at the show of affection. The boys had changed so much since they had first moved in so long ago. She had been lucky then if all objects remained intact when Mycroft had visited, but now they practically lived upstairs unless Mycroft needed to be at the club for some reason.

"How was school?" Greg asked.

"Dull. Double German."

"And you were good and did not get sent to the principal’s office."

She shrugged. "If I had been sent to the principal’s office, it wouldn't have been dull. I like it in there."

"You have been hanging around with Uncle Sherlock too long."

The detective was still on the doctor’s lap, failing to hide his smile.

"I didn't say that to her, Myc. I promise."

"So liking the principal’s office just like you did is a coincidence, is it?"

It was the injured man's turn to shrug. "What can I say? We're similar!" If John didn't know any better, he would say he sensed pride in his tone.

"Have you got any homework?" Mycroft asked, just as the door went downstairs again.

"Expecting someone, Mrs. H?" John inquired, shifting his weight slightly where he was sat and causing a grunt to come from above.

She shook her head. "No, dear."

The door swung open (Millie had closed it behind her) without so much as a knock and a tall man strode in.

Sherlock and Mycroft shared glances, then said at once, "Sherrinford."


	2. Chapter 2

"What do you want, Sherrinford?" Mycroft spat. His arms had tightened protectively around Millie and Greg's hand had automatically gone to rest on his knee. He glanced at his little brother who had his fists clenched and John's hand resting at the nape of his neck. He looked tense also.

"I heard my little brother had been in an accident," Sherrinford started, as if that was the reason he was here. They all knew it wasn't. He caught sight of Sherlock and grinned. It wasn't a 'my little brother' grin it was more of a snarl that made him look insane. James Moriarty sprung to mind.

"Like you care!" Sherlock spat, his tone so similar to Mycroft's it was rather intimidating, even if it did occur at crime scenes rather a lot.

"Of course I care." But that was all he said on the matter. He turned to the British Government. "Ah, my other little brother and Gregory. How good to see you both. And this must be Mildred."

"It's Millie," she whispered, so it was only really Greg and Mycroft who could hear her. She'd never been one to be shy before, but Sherrinford's posture alone made him appear hard and stern.

"Well, you'll be pleased to know, I too have a child, a boy. And John, long time no see." The eldest Holmes brother seemed more than content to rabbit on in his own monologue despite the fact all he was doing was winding up the room, including the youngest on Mycroft's lap.

When he glanced at John and winked, however, Sherlock had had enough. It was too similar to all those years ago and in an instant he had flown across the room, ignoring John's worried yell when he used the brace on his foot to propel himself rather than the crutches he was meant to use. He gripped the eldest man by his suit jacket and threw him back against the wall, hard, so that the back of his head collided with the vertical surface. He'd seen him do it to Mycroft when he'd been a child, after all.

"You bastard!" Sherlock's outcry could have been heard in Oxford. "After what you do did to me and John!"

"Oh, don't be a moron, little brother." Sherrinford had the guts to wind up the time bomb in front of him and didn't seem to have the sense to mute his torments. He was also rather calm, as if the events that brought the 'happy family' to an end hadn't happened.

"It wasn't just me and John though, was it?! It took me long enough to work it out. It was Myc too… if it wasn't for Greg- Father should have gone with you! You sick son of a bitch!"

John watched terrified for what Sherlock could be planning, but he didn't quite feel bad enough for Sherrinford to step in.

"Sherri, darling?" Came a voice from the stairs. "What's all the shouting?"

"Father?" That was a boy's voice, no more than 4 or 5.

"Don't mind me, Eliza dear. Just my hooligan of a brother."

"Oh, dear…" she stopped and picked up the boy so he was facing away. "Sherri, maybe we should go." She looked around the room at the other three men gathered, an older woman and a small girl. It hadn't been her idea to 'pop in' as Sherrinford had suggested.

"Maybe you shouldn't have bloody well turned up here in the first place." Sherlock was bored of just pinning his brother to the wall and took a step back. He swung a punch, his aim perfect for the bridge of the shorter man's nose. Immediately Mycroft was on his feet. "Mrs. Hudson, would you mind taking Millie downstairs? She can make a start on her homework with some milk." Not even before he had finished speaking, had he began to move towards his little brother to grab Sherlock's wrist before he hurt himself. Sherrinford, he didn't much care for, hadn't for a long time.

The eldest Holmes boy had dug his own hole many years ago and he didn't much care for excuses, not after the disaster that so nearly ended in tragedy where John and Sherlock were concerned.

John's own temper had began to escape, memories flooding through him. He would be of no use in calming Sherlock down. He was usually the one that maintained the youngest man's fuses. He didn't know how his partner hadn't joined him, but Greg had moved to his side to at least attempt to calm him, but given the feelings arising so suddenly, it was highly unlikely until the sod was gone.

Mycroft took hold of Sherlock's arms and pulled them behind his back being careful not to overbalance him given his current ability - or lack of - to stand upright alone.

Greg had knelt down in front of John and was quietly murmuring to him, Mycroft couldn't quite work out the words, and he turned his focus on both his brothers. He smiled ever so slightly at Eliza. She had nothing to do with his older brother's arsehole attitude and if she was as lovely as she appeared, in another time line may have been great to get to know.

"Your wife is right, brother-dear," Mycroft snarled, "Get out, before I let him go." It was quite clearly a threat, but Sherrinford didn't take it as one.

"Ah, scared he's going to hurt me, Myc? I didn't know you cared."

"No, I'm scared he's going to hurt himself. You, I don't give a shit about." He changed his grip on the detective as he struggled and moved his hands around his chest to hold him back, given he was slightly taller. Sherlock would never admit that, however.

"Well, I came here for a reason." He wiped the blood from his nose with a handkerchief and reached for his wife's hand. "We came here for a reason."

"Sherri, we should go. I was right that their reception would be less than hospitable. Too many broken bridges. Let's go."

"No, dear!"

She flinched slightly at his sharp tone, even though the word 'dear' had been used in a pet name way, there was an undercurrent of warning in it.

Mycroft clenched his teeth slightly. God, Sherrinford was such a jerk! "Eliza, why don't you and…"

"Edward."

"Why don't you and Edward go and see Mrs. Hudson. She's downstairs in 221A. I don't think the little one needs to see this."

She nodded and glanced warily at her husband. He inclined his head slightly. He wasn't impressed, but he had to agree his younger brother was right about Edward.

The lady left, still carrying his nephew and Mycroft watched, his attention only brought back into the room by Sherrinford moving over to the sofa, slow and casual, still dabbing absently at his nose.

John was on his feet fast at Sherlock's cry of pain. The bastard had stamped on his foot as he passed and John had responded immediately, recognising his lover's distress.

Mycroft lowered him down, realising that any more weight running through his painful joint wouldn't help. John collapsed in front of his detective and slowly undid the brace. "Greg, go and grab a bag of peas from the freezer. Mind the eyes!"

The DI shook his head slightly, but knew there was no point questioning it. By the time he had returned, the younger man's foot was out in the open and his trouser leg pushed up to his knee. He was rested practically in Mycroft's lap, his arms wrapped around his leg and his older brother's hand carding through his hair, whispering softly.

Sherrinford, the smug bastard was sat on the sofa, a pleased smirk gracing his features as he watched the events of his causing unfold.


	3. Chapter 3

"Does Mummy know you're back?" Mycroft asked, trying to remain on top of his temper.

Sherlock had drifted off into a sedated sleep in his lap and, for the first time in months, he actually looked peaceful. John had had to be careful with the extra sedative and morphine, seeing as the amount he had already had at the hospital, but he couldn't let him stay awake to endure it or to confront his eldest brother. The pain was too much even for the stubborn sod that he was. The government official shifted so his back was against the chair and his lover's legs were either side of him. As he ran his hand through his little brother’s hair, Greg did the same to the British Government with one hand and used the other to rub his shoulder, doing a marginally good job at keeping him calm. The main thing keeping him calm was Sherlock's head in his lap. 

"I doubt it. And I'm hardly 'back'. I've kept in contact with her."

"That's not what she says." Mycroft was ready to launch himself at any moment, the only thing stopping him; his baby brother in a bundle on his lap - the same thing keeping him calm. 

Greg added, "Now you have 30 seconds to speak and clear off before I let him go."

"He wouldn't hurt me, ickle Sherlock would get hurt further."

Sherrinford was supposed to be more intelligent then his little brothers, more mature, more respectful of their parents. If he was any of those things he did a fine job of keeping it locked away inside himself. 

Mycroft growled.

"You bastard," John snarled. He had just retrieved another ice pack and a separate bandage and was re-entering the room. "You threaten one little brother with hurting the other one."

"Well, seeing as the infamous John Watson can see through my cunning plan… I want in on the share of the manor." Abrupt seemed the only options now. 

"What?" Mycroft spluttered. Sherlock stirred in his lap, his foot knocking into the floor and recoiling violently. John chose his husband, rather than spitting further abuse at the older man sat like nothing was happening, and crouched down, removing the bag of peas and catching his flying foot into his lap by his trouser leg so as to not hurt him further.

"Mother told me about Father being ill. She also didn't fail to mention the fact that it is only you and Sherlock in the will."

Mycroft growled. "You crushed his foot for that!" Subconsciously wondering when Sherrinford had spoken to Mummy. 

"How did Sherlock even get in Mother's good books? He was a little shit growing up."

"He met John Watson."

John glared at the older Holmes brother and began treating his lover's ankle further.

"He's known John the majority of his life."

"No, after Father kicked you out, John's parents moved away. You tainted the family name, Sherrinford!"

"I was out of contact with him- them for 9 years," John snarled. He hated that, hated being split up from Sherlock, they had been best friends from preschool. 

"Shame," Sherrinford said, he didn't seem at all put out, though. In fact, a smile crept onto his face. 

"Before Sherlock went to rehab, he fell out with our parents, more like, fell out with Mummy. When John came back… well let's just say everything - you're little plan to ruin our family got destroyed and John's influence on Lockie was nothing short of spectacular. Greg stopped him going to prison and John got him clean." Mycroft didn't know why he was explaining himself. Sherrinford might not have been able to be there for them (even if he had wanted to) but it had been entirely his fault, even the fire that was the turning point had been his fault. 

The doctor smiled up at his husband's brother. "You helped, but for something more important than that moron. 'Lock's going to feel this, Myc, hold him tight. He's hurting enough as it is."

John gritted his teeth as he tightened the bandage around the new swelling and he'd been right, Sherlock did feel it. He felt awful to be the one to have to do it to the younger man, but it was this or back to A&E and Sherlock would not thank them if he woke up in hospital again. As Sherlock's whimpering subsided John stood up, more than aware that Mycroft could handle his husband alone. He grabbed Sherrinford by the shirt collar and hauled him towards the door.

"Watson, get off of me!" He spat.

"Greg, little help?" John enquired.

"Sure." The DI was more than willing to help and grabbed a flailing arm forcing it up Sherrinford's back.

"You'll pay for this!" He snarled as he was dragged down the stairs of Baker Street. He should have been able to outwit them, but he didn't seem to bother. 

"You got him?"

"Of course."

John pushed the door to 221A open and then reclaimed his grip on the Holmes brother's collar.

"Sherrinford is leaving," he said simply. "…Eliza, wasn't it? Nice meeting you. Shame you married a muppet."

Greg laughed and dragged Sherrinford by the collar, then pushed him down the stairs at the front of Baker Street. His wife followed carrying little Edward. With that, he grabbed John's arm and dragged him up the stairs so he wouldn't get distracted and chin the dickhead.

When they pushed the door open to B, it was to see Mycroft trying to soothe his baby brother who was moaning incoherently.

"John, what's wrong with him?"

The doctor crouched down and felt his forehead. "It looks like a fever. He's been running ragged with this case. I've struggled to keep up. He hasn't eaten as much as he should or slept that much. The little amount of food I've managed to force into him isn't enough."

"So what do we do?" The DI asked.

"Make him comfy and see how he is when he wakes up. Hopefully the pain and the sedative should keep him asleep for a long while yet, he needs rest."


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock woke up drowsy. He recognised drug induced sleep immediately, but from what he could recall it wasn't his own fault. There was a change. "John-" he groaned, his voice cracked as he spoke and he hated how weak he sounded.

"John's gone to the clinic, 'Lock."

Sherlock knew Mycroft's voice immediately. "Why?" He croaked.

"He hasn't got many painkillers here."

"Hospital-"

"He said he can get something better from work than what they gave you."

"Where am I?"

Mycroft moved from where he was sat in the armchair and knelt down beside his brother. "You're in Baker Street, brother min." He pushed his hand through the detective's curls. "Home."

"Sherrinford?"

"John got rid of him."

"He hurt?"

The older brother smiled slightly. "John's fine."

"I don't- I'm…"

"High on morphine. John upped the dose, but he had to watch it."

"I'm not addicted-"

"No, he had to watch the amount because you'd already had a lot at the hospital."

"What about Milly?"

"Milly's fine. Gregory is taking her to Mummy. You've only been out a couple of hours seeing as you couldn't have much more sedative."

Sherlock glanced down the sofa to where his foot was propped up. It was out of the brace, but was twice the size of his other one. "What did I do?"

"It wasn't you, 'Lock, it was Sherrinford."

Sherlock's eyes widened in realisation. "He stood- that jerk!"

The younger Holmes sat up abruptly, but then yelled out as his foot twisted.

"Lockie, calm down."

Sherlock looked up at him with tears in his eyes. He managed to somehow stay on top of them. "It hurts, Myc."

"Oh, little brother," Mycroft perched on the edge of the seat and cradled his head to his chest. "I know."

The door slammed downstairs and John came running up. "Myc, I've managed to-"  
He froze at the sight of Sherlock wrapped around his brother, sobbing. He had apparently stayed on top of the emotion until the older man hugged him and then it became too much.

"Sherlock… Babe, what is it?" He wandered to the sofa cautiously.

"He forgot and moved suddenly."

"So I need to tie you to the chair?" John said lightly. His husband's head slowly came away from Mycroft's chest.

"John?"

"Hello." He smiled warmly and the younger man let go of Mycroft and launched himself at John, wrapping his arms around him. "What have I told you about moving quickly? Do you like it when your foot hurts?"

"No…"

"Then stop moving."

Mycroft smiled. "I'll go and put the kettle on." He ruffled his baby brother's curls.

"Sherlock," Greg said as he skipped up the last few steps into the flat. "You're awake."

"Very observant."

The DI winked and turned to the kitchen where he knew Mycroft must be. He kissed him on sight. "Milly?"

"Settled with Violet. She's fine."

"How much did you tell her?"

"Not much. You know how much she likes seeing Milly. She's got her for the weekend. I told her to phone if they need anything."

"Ok, good. Does she know about Sherrinford?"

"No, but I expect Milly will mention it. I didn't exactly tell her to keep it quiet."

Mycroft nodded and handed him a mug, before wrapping his arms around him and squeezing tight. "We could have lost Sherlock today," he said softly.

Greg reached around him and placed his mug on the unit. He rested his hands at either side of the government official's face and looked deep into his eyes. "But we didn't."

"It was too close."

"Nothing you say or do will change the way he acts. He's at the point where he eats and sleeps. How boring would John find it if he didn't go off on mad chases?"

Mycroft smiled ever so slightly at his husband. "Maybe being bored isn't such a bad thing."

"Oi, Mycroft!"

The British government rolled his eyes and took Greg's hand. He peered around the edge of the door. Sherlock was sat up, John knelt at his feet, refitting the brace.

"So brother dear is feeling ok, now?"

"Yep, we won't be able to shut him up." John laughed at the pout on the detective's face.

John, as soon as the detective had let him go, had set about sorting the new painkillers for the younger man. They were fast acting, within a few minutes usually. They hadn't been wrong, yes, Sherlock's face was still pale, still tight in some areas where he was struggling not to wince in pain, but on the whole he seemed a lot better.

"Now, brother, what did Sherrinford want?"

Mycroft sighed, he took the two mugs off Greg so that the DI could pick up the others and he wandered back into the sitting room giving the drinks to the younger men. "He wanted a share in the manor."

"Mother is leaving it to you, isn't she?"

Mycroft paused on the edge of his seat. "She's leaving it to the both of us, Sherlock."

"But-"

"But nothing. She informed me of this years back, after some persuasion, mind you."

"Father's been ill for months, how is this the first I hear of it?"

"Sherlock," John interrupted with a hand on his knee. "Mycroft told you this when your father first went into hospital. You said boring and picked up your violin."

"So Sherrinford came back after all these years because Father is dying and Mother wants to live somewhere smaller?"

"Mummy thinks as much of Father as we do."

"So why are they still married?"

"The manor was in both their names, as was the rest of the estate and the other homes around the world. It would have been too much like hard work to get a divorce. She said as long as she got to see us and Milly, when she came along she could handle Father for as long as it took."

"There's 15 years between your parents isn't there?" John asked. At Mycroft's nod, he continued. "Did your mother know he was ill?"

"She deduced a lot earlier than the doctors did."

"How much earlier?" Sherlock spat.

"About 17 years."

"How did she know that far in advance?" The DI asked.

Mycroft shrugged. "How do we know things?" He indicated himself and his brother. "She's even cleverer than I am."

"Modest," Greg whispered. He wrapped his own hand around Mycroft's waist.

"17 years ago! I was still a child!"

"Which is why you never knew until Father was taken into hospital."

"Are you about to tell me to go and visit him?"

"Of course not! He should never have taken sides with Sherrinford and he should never have been such an abusive arse

Despite only being 10, Sherlock remembered it vividly, the day Sherrinford was kicked out. But not because of that, but because John's father had collected him and that was the last he saw of him for over 9 years. He was in rehab when they were reunited. If he hadn't found him when he did, he would never have gotten clean. John had saved his life more than once.


	5. Chapter 5

_"I'm not eating it!"_

_"Sherlock Holmes!" His mother yelled from the door, but despite the yell, she had a fond look on her face. "You will eat your vegetables."_

_"But they're horrid, Mummy."_

_"If I eat mine, will you eat yours?" Sherlock looked across at John and squinted as if sensing a trap._

_"Fine," he muttered with a frown._

_John grinned in triumph and Mrs. Holmes stepped forward to run her hands through both the boys' hair._

_"Your father is going to come and collect you tomorrow, John."_

_"Aw," Sherlock complained. "But why can't he stay till we go back to school?"_

_"Because he needs to see his sister and get his things ready. Don't forget, you're both going to Eton."_

_John grinned at the prospect of such a great school. It was, of course, the Holmes' influence that got him the placement exam which he'd aced nearly as well as Sherlock had. The younger boy didn't much care for the fact of the school name or the reputation behind it, as long as John was there it would be fine._

_"Now, I've got to go out tonight and it's Theresa's day off so Sherrinford is coming over."_

_"But, Mummy! Can't Mycroft come?"_

_"Mycroft is going to be back later today. Gregory is packing and Mycroft is bringing him before they head off to Oxford."_

_"Why? Greg's still at Eton. With us."_

_"He's moving in with Mycroft rather than boarding. Now eat that up, I have to go and get ready."_

_Sherlock pouted and threw a carrot at John. He dodged it with practiced ease._

_"Look, you little terror, I don't want to be late. John, ensure he eats it all before he leaves the table."_

_"Yes, Mrs. Holmes."_

_"Come on," Sherlock whispered as soon as his mother had disappeared._

_"Um, Sherlock, you haven't finished your vegetables."_

_"So?"_

_"Your mum said you have to before you can leave the table."_

_Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Since when do we listen to what Mummy says?"_

_"Since I'm going home tomorrow and if we get in trouble, she might not let me come back."_

_"Oh, she will, don't worry about that."_

_"She will?" John ate his last carrot and cocked his head on one side in thought._

_"Of course. I would be terribly naughty and scare all the staff if she didn't."_

_John laughed. "Can you at least eat half?"_

_Sherlock looked him straight in the eye and John, for a moment, thought he was seeing a whole other world._

_"Ok," was his conclusion as he climbed back onto the seat. "But I'm not eating the broccoli."_

_"Alright." John figured it was a fair compromise._

_"What are we going to do about Sherrinford?"_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Well he's looking after us tonight and always locks the door to our room…"_

_"There's not a lot we can do."_

_***_

_"Sherlock, John, room now," Sherrinford's voice came from behind them._

_The boy's were laid out across the floor, books and pieces of paper spread out everywhere._

_"But we're working, we need the library books."_

_"I don't care. Take the books to your room."_

_"But we don't know which ones we need until we find them."_

_The eldest Holmes brother stepped into the library and paced towards his little brother. He grabbed both boys by the collar, leaving their work on the floor. Sherlock flailed a bit, kicking out, but he was just put down, smacked a few times on his backside and regathered in his fist before they were dragged upstairs._

_Sherrinford opened the boys' bedroom door and pushed them in. Sherlock fell to the floor, but John managed to retain his balance. He turned in time to see the door shut and knew from experience it would be locked. He held his hand out to the younger boy and helped him up off the floor._

_"I hate him!" Sherlock snapped. He kicked at the door until John grabbed his shoulder, spun him around and hugged him. They were the same height which was odd given the two year age gap, but Sherlock's mother always said he would be lanky because he hardly ate anything._

_"There's nothing we can do. You know when your mum gets back, he lets us out. What do you want to do?"_

_"Read in the library!" He sulked._

_John rolled his eyes. "Chess then."_

_***_

_"Why the hell are you looking after Sherlock and John?!" Mycroft yelled marching into the drawing room to confront his older brother. He was sat lazing about like normal._

_"It's at Mother's request."_

_"What did you have to do to swing that?"_

_"I'm her son, that's enough!"_

_"So am I!"_

_"But I'm her eldest and you were with Gregory."_

_"We could have left early."_

_"What, and miss special kissing time?"_

_"Where are Sherlock and John?" Mycroft ignored his brother's obvious taunting._

_"They're kids, they're doing whatever it is kids do. You'd know that better than me, what with still being a child and everything."_

_"I am 17! I am perfectly capable of looking after a 10 and a 12 year old even if one is our troublesome baby brother."_

_"But still not an adult."_

_Mycroft was beginning to get wound up, his shoulders had tensed and his breathing was coming far heavier than it had been. He wished for Gregory to come in from packing the car up and help him here, his older brother was the only one who he could never outsmart and arguments always tended to be lost when Mycroft couldn't deduce the issues._

_"At least I can drive. Now where are John and Sherlock?" He changed his question after a moment’s thought, something Sherlock had said a few weeks ago springing into the front of his mind, we always have to keep out of the way when he's around. "What the hell have you done with the boys?"_

_Sherrinford's arm went back and he swung a punch, Mycroft hadn't seen it coming. Despite his height, Sherrinford had the advantage - where Mycroft had learned to drive, the older boy had hit the gym. He flew backwards a few feet and landed on his arse, his back up against his father's recliner. Sherrinford moved so he was on top of Mycroft and pulled him away from the chair. He began laying into the younger teenager. Mycroft managed to deflect a few punches by quick thinking, but nowhere near enough, and despite his efforts, he was in no position to fight back. This wasn't a brotherly fight, this was an older boy kicking the hell out of a younger one, one that arguably hadn't done anything wrong._

_"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" came a bark from the door. Gregory Lestrade, the middle Holmes' boyfriend marched in and kicked the elder boy off of Mycroft. Mycroft rolled to the side coughing and spluttering, trying to regain his breath back. Greg didn't need the deductive powers of a Holmes, he had his rugby brawl and one swing sent Sherrinford reeling. He knelt down beside Mycroft and rubbed at his back, all the while keeping an eye on the other man on the floor. "What was that about?" he asked._

_Mycroft tried to answer, but he just choked up blood. He rubbed his mouth in a half-hearted attempt at making himself look presentable._

_All three heads snapped up in surprise as the smoke alarm sounded. "I'll go," Greg whispered. He cupped Mycroft's cheek as he ran out of the room to check what was going on. He didn't get very far, the smoke alarm had taken a while to activate as the kitchen one had been disabled when Mrs. Holmes had cooked - the smoke had had to reach the hall before activating it. Flames were gushing from the kitchen. He raced back into the room and helped Mycroft to his feet. "We've got to get out of here."_

_"The fire service should be on its way," Mycroft choked out, smelling the smoke. "It's automatic now."_

_Sherrinford had already ran out of the front door, but Greg had to help the younger Holmes. They got through the front door too before Mycroft turned to his older brother. "Where's Sherlock?" Mycroft demanded, angrily. "And John?!"_

_When there was no immediate response, both Mycroft and Greg looked around to see if there was any sign of either of them running out on their own._

_"What the fuck have you done to them?" Mycroft barked in his brother's face._

_Sherrinford glanced up at the boys' bedroom, but stayed silent._

_"They know to come out if there's a fire alarm blaring and even if Sherlock couldn't be bothered John would make him. So where are they?!" Greg yelled._

_Mycroft locked Sherrinford up and down once. His head snapped over to his boyfriend. "He locked them in."_

_They were lucky they lived so close to a fire station and the alarm ran through to them automatically given the size of the manor, but they weren't close enough. The boys' room was directly above the kitchen._

_Mycroft took a deep breath, coughing up blood from the pounding he had just taken. He - they couldn't wait._

_"I'm going in for them," Mycroft growled at Greg._

_"I'm coming with you." His boyfriend had already begun to race in as Sherrinford just stood there not willing to help, at least his smug smirk had gone for a change. He might actually have looked panicked. If it wasn't for such dire circumstances Mycroft would have been glad. He always used his 'superior intelligence' to outwit the younger Holmeses an get them into trouble._

_Mycroft had already been coughing and choking before entering a building gushing with flames and smoke, but he needed to find Sherlock and John. Greg ran on ahead to the boys' room._

_"John? Sherlock? You in there?" He banged on the door and it was indeed locked._

_There was no response, so he glanced at Mycroft. He took a step from the door and without it being said, he put his foot through it. It took a couple of kicks, but the door eventually gave in and the teenagers charged in. Both boys were in the corner by the bed, Sherlock had passed out with John on top of him, almost protectively. A shared glance and they both bent down to pick up one each. John with Greg and Mycroft with his baby brother._

_"Come on," Greg yelled around the sparking and crackling of the building. Sirens could be heard outside and the yells of fire crews._

_They fought their way through the smoke, each with a little bundle of boy in their arms. Mycroft was about to make his way down the stairs, when flames could be seen down the bottom, they'd never get passed that on their own, let alone with two boys._

_Mycroft swallowed with difficulty, the smoke not mixing well with his already painful throat. "We've got to go back, the back stairs."_

_Greg nodded and took off in the direction of the stairs around where the staff slept. Why did their parents insist on letting all the staff have the same day off at once?_

_As they continued to make their way through the manor that was increasingly becoming a mess one room at a time, Mycroft was getting dizzier and dizzier._

_They raced from the front of the house, hearing the stairs giving way behind them. Mrs. Holmes was there, being held back by two police officers. When they spotted the four of them, they let her go. She ran forward and immediately grabbed both of the older boys around the neck. Sherrinford sauntered over wearing a concerned expression that was clearly fake._

_"Fuck off," Mycroft snarled._

_"Mycroft!" Mrs. Holmes berated, but he just shook his head. She'd get to know exactly what sort of son her eldest was, he'd make sure of it._

_As paramedics made their way over, the dizziness increased threefold and Mycroft collapsed, only just managing to keep his brother on top of him rather than underneath._

_Greg laid John down on one of the moving beds that had been brought out of an ambulance and turned to Mrs. Holmes._

_"Mrs. Holmes, I need to talk to you." The tears that had been welling up began to trail down Greg's charcoal stained face as he glanced at his boyfriend - he was being lifted onto a similar bed as was Sherlock, both of them were out cold._

_"Now?" She asked as she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly._

_"Yes, Mrs. Holmes, now."_

_"How many times have I told you, Gregory, it's Violet?" She cupped his cheek. "I can't believe the two of you did that."_

_"That's what I need to talk to you about." He saw Sherrinford glaring at him as he was trying to be the concerned brother by the paramedics. "It's about Sherrinford."_

_"Go on," she encouraged, a glance over her shoulders at her boys._

_"He's the reason Sherlock and John were trapped."_

***

"Sherlock. Sherlock! Wake up. Please, babe. Please, please, wake up, you're scaring me."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he stared at John, breathing heavily. His breath hitched in his throat and John gathered him up in his arms.

"You went back, didn't you? Back to when it happened?"

Sherlock nodded and sobbed. John tucked his head in under his chin and held him tighter still, content to cuddle him for as long as he needed.

Sherrinford could never and would never be forgiven for that evening.


	6. Chapter 6

"Wake up!" Sherlock bounced on the edge of the bed. 

"God, Sherlock," John grumbled his complaint. "What do you want?"

"Greg needs us. Well, me, but you could be of use as well…"

John slapped him lightly, then shoved him off the edge of the bed so he fell to the floor in a heap. He laughed at the indignant look on his face, and pushed himself up the bed a bit more. "Go and put the kettle on then."

"But, John-"

"Greg can wait an extra 10 minutes while I get some food into you. And you are using those crutches, Sherlock!" He yelled after him. "Don't let me catch you walking around without them outside of the flat. They're for a purpose."

"They're boring."

"Not the point."

John groaned as he stared at the ceiling. At least his husband was feeling well enough to go out on a case. At the sound of clattering coming from the kitchen he realised, who was he kidding? Sherlock would go on a case with no ankles if it meant a lack of boredom.

He swiped the crutches up as he climbed from the bed and took them through to the kitchen.

"Sit down, babe, I'll cook," Sherlock spun and wrapped his arms around him. "Sit," John ordered pressing the crutches into his hands. "And use these."

***

Half an hour later saw them turning up to the crime scene.

On sight, Donovan burst out laughing. "What a moron!" She yelled out, pointing. A few others joined in her laughs, but many didn't find it as amusing as she and Anderson apparently did.

"At least I can put my shirt on the right way," Sherlock pointed out smugly as she tried and failed to pull down the zip on her jacket.

That got the attention of the Yarders and this time they did burst out laughing. But at Donovan. 

Donovan blushed furiously. It was her own fault, she'd set up herself up for it. 

"It seems you have a hangover, good night with Anderson was it?"

"Shut it, Freak," she hissed, loud enough for the majority of the coppers gathered around to hear it. 

"I think we've heard enough from you," the DI said from behind. "Go and man the cordon."

"But that's uniform's job!"

"Would you rather I sent you back to uniform?" She hurried off quickly without another word. "Through here," Greg offered with a grin.

As Sherlock was making many deductions about the two corpses, Donovan appeared at the door. She looked far more cowed now than she had half an hour ago.

"I thought I told you-"

"I know, sir. There's a strange man outside. Wants access to this place."

"Then tell him it's a crime scene," Greg sounded like he was talking to a 7 year old. "You know this, Donovan."

"I did, sir. He won't leave. He wants to see Fre- Sherlock."

Sighing, Sherlock straightened up. "It's my brother," he said with a huff. 

"How'd you know?"

"It's the only place he can get to me without… interference."

He began to hop to the door.

"It's not your brother," Donovan pointed out far too smugly as Sherlock hopped off ahead.

"Sherlock!" John yelled after him, gathering up the crutches the other man had dumped again. 

From the door, he could clearly see Sherrinford being held back at the cordon.

"Brother dear," he waved, smirking. "A couple of coppers too much for you?"

John joined him quickly, resting his hand on his shoulder and pressing the crutches into his hands. 

Greg pointed to the front door. "Donovan, guard it."

Her mouth was opening and closing like a gold fish. The look of disbelief on her face was an absolute picture. "Sherlock has more than one brother?"

"Go," the DI hissed. What was it with her being so insubordinate? He headed to the Holmeses and John at a jog. He needed to defuse the situation before it sparked into life because if John's temper the other day when Sherrinford had turned up was anything to go by, there would be a fight. And in front of a dozen coppers was not the best place for it to happen.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked, clearly annoyed. His hands were wrapped tightly around the handles of his crutches and the doctor's hand was on his wrist, comforting, but probably restraining too.

"I need to talk to you. You can talk to Mummy…" He made it sound so reasonable, but he didn't sound sympathetic to what he had done to them when they were children.

"No."

"But she'll listen to you if you're in her good books again." Sherlock chuckled internally. If he was coming to the youngest of the Holmeses, he clearly was desperate. Mycroft would have much better luck with Mummy than he would, despite their new found bond.

On the outside, however, it was clear that if the detective hadn't been heavily relying upon his crutches he would have likely swung another punch. Hopefully doing more damage than the other day.

"I didn't say no because I can't. I said no because I won't. I'll never get those 9 years back," he spat. "9 years without John. I ended up in fucking rehab because of you. Now. Fuck. Off. And do not come back." He glanced over his shoulder at the DI, knowing it wouldn't work, but wanting the last word, at least for now. "We're done here. I've told you everything I can for the moment. I need to do some research… gather more data and then I can tell you more."

"Cheers, Sherlock," he offered with a thankful smile, making a point of pretending the older Holmes wasn't there. 

As the younger man began hopping off in one direction, he left a seething Sherrinford behind. "I could likely deduce better than-"

"Fuck off," John repeated, cutting him off, but only managing to stop himself from lashing out because of Greg.

The pair waited until Sherrinford had stormed off in a classic Holmes sulk.

"That won't be the end of this, will it?" The doctor growled, staring at the back of the eldest Holmes' head.

"No," the DI placed his hand on his arm. "I'm going to call Myc. Look after him," he ordered pointing after Sherlock.

"Always."


	7. Chapter 7

"It's the fourth day we've found at least a body, this month, Sherlock, are you sure there's nothing else you can deduce?"

The three of them were sat around a coffee table in a cafe up from Baker Street. Sherlock didn't understand why they couldn't have just stayed at the flat for the coffee. Mrs. Hudson's was always better than this and this they paid for. It was the day after the crime scene; the day after Sherrinford had turned up to ruin Sherlock's case satisfaction, despite the lack of completion.

Greg was worried that Sherlock's thinking skills had been affected by his elder brother's untimely intervention the day before, but there was nothing either he or John could do about it unless the detective told them something useful.

"There's nothing more to deduce, Greg. 1 body, 2 bodies, 3 bodies and now 5 bodies… there's no link, there's no connection. Not that I can see. At least, not yet," he added rather half-heartedly. This case was getting to him, there was something he couldn't quite shake. Something more than the average serial killer murder spree.

"Then what do we do?" The doctor asked. He was worried as well. In fact, it had been the prime topic of conversation at the pub with the DI the night before while Sherlock had gone out with Mycroft and Millie.

"I told you when I met you. Serial killers are tricky. You have to wait for them to make a mistake. This one just hasn't made a mistake yet."

"Could it be Moriarty? It's the sort of thing he would do. Playing games…"

"I don't even know where he is, it's been what, 3 years since he disappeared? I'm still convinced it was Mycroft that played that clip that kept me here…"

"We know it wasn't… but that's not the point. There has to be some connection you can pick up, people are dying here. How many's next? 6? 7? 11?"

Sherlock straightened up in his seat, knocking the crutches over beside him. "Say that again."

"We know it wasn't-" Greg started, mightily confused.

"No, not that bit, the last bit."

"How many's next? 6? 7? 11?"

"7. 11. Don't you see?" He jumped up in joy nearly knocking the table over and then wobbling as he landed.

John had to put his hand out to steady him. It was like the younger man was oblivious to the fact he still needed to use his crutches for balance. "No we don't bloody see, you prat. Explain."

The cafe's patrons had turned to stare at them. Sherlock settled back in his seat in a huff, waiting for everyone to go back to their own business before he continued.

"Lestrade, give me the dates the bodies were found."

"It's Greg and you already know the-"

"Please," he said hurriedly. His theory needed data. Lots of data because then he would have proof. 

"The first body was found on the first of March. The second body, second of March. The third body, third of March. The fourth and fifth body yesterday."

"Does it not strike you as odd that the fourth was skipped out? It's been playing on my mind since yesterday, but I couldn't make it clear in my head. At first I thought it was that you just didn't find the fourth body until a day later. But it was in the same place as the fifth, so unless it was moved yesterday… but the post mortem should disprove that theory."

"What are you rabbiting on about?" John grumbled. He loved his husband, of course he did, but when the man got on a roll he was a complete dick.

"You said you had a witness for the third victim that heard the gunshot at 3am…"

"And?"

"For gods sake why are you both so god damn slow? The first victim died between 11pm and 3am. You had the same response for victim two."

"Oh…" Greg suddenly caught on. "I get it…" but at Sherlock's disapproving look, he carried on slightly quelled. "Well part of it at least. Each murder happened at the time that connects to which victim they were."

"But that doesn't explain the fourth of March being skipped out," John couldn't help but point out. He wanted to understand what his husband so clearly did, but decided that it wasn't going to happen so went back to his coffee.

"It does if the killer is working from prime numbers. 7… 11. They would be the next two after 5."

"You mean, we're going to have 31 bodies by the end of the month?" The DI was outraged.

Sherlock inclined his head. "Yes."

"We can't let that happen!"

"If you didn't have me that is," Sherlock continued, smugly. "The next murder will be tomorrow. Two more people are going to die. You need to stop that from happening. The locations of the bodies are a bit off and difficult to track, but abandoned warehouses and storage facilities in South London seem a good place to start."

"Sherlock, have you any idea how many warehouses and storage places there are in South London?"

"Better get a move on then. 7am tomorrow-" Sherlock cut off as his phone rang.

"Ignore it," Greg ordered. They were busy!

"I can't. It's your husband," he swiped his finger across the screen. "Myc?" Sherlock's face froze, but gradually got colder and angrier the more Mycroft obviously said. "Alright, big brother. The three of us are in Baker Street."

He rang off and shoved his phone into his pocket. He pushed himself to his feet and hopped out of the cafe, ignoring the odd looks people were still giving him.

The DI dropped 20 quid on the table for their lunch and followed John out.

"Sherlock?" John called after him. "Babe, what is it?"

"Mycroft's sending a car. It's father. He's deteriorating rapidly."

"'Lock, I'm sorry-"

"Don't," he hissed. Then he sighed looking down at the floor and the brace still around his foot. "I'm sorry."

"Shh," John soothed, wrapping his arms around him.

Greg gave them a bit of space until the car Mycroft had sent pulled up.

***

When they reached the hospital, Mycroft was already stood there waiting. He had a cigarette in his hand that he was obviously contemplating smoking.

The DI went straight to him and whacked it from his hand. "There's no need. We're here now. Where's Millie?"

"With Mummy. She wanted to see her for a while."

"Is she not here?" Mycroft shook his head. "She's visited him once or twice, but she doesn't want to be here. She can't be here, she said."

Greg wrapped his arms around him. "It's alright, Myc. It's all going to be alright."

The government official grinned warily as Sherlock hopped over. His little brother looked absolutely exhausted. "Has our moron of a brother showed his face again today?"

"No."

Mycroft wrapped his arms around the younger Holmes, wishing he could do it as they headed into the hospital, but they couldn't because of the crutches he was still relying on.

"I'm worried about it, Myc."

"What? Sherrinford?"

The detective nodded. "Something isn't right. He's… after something."

Mycroft inclined his head in agreement as he took the DI's hand and led into the hospital. "We know that. He's after the manor. Our inheritance."

"Yes. But at what is he willing to stop at to get his own way? What he wants?"

"I see your point, little brother."

"Is he dead yet?" Sherlock asked. He hoped he was, he didn't really want to see him, but knew it would be the last chance he'd get to make up with him.

"No," Mycroft answered. "I was waiting for you, but the nurse would have told me."

Mycroft pushed open the door to their father's room. He was the only occupant and he was also asleep.

Sherlock hopped away from the others and moved around to the far side of the bed. He sunk into the chair there and sighed. He'd thought, seeing the old man exhausted and dying would make him forgive him. But he couldn't. He'd spent 2 months in hospital with severe burns when he was 10, he'd had his 11th birthday inside where only Mycroft and Mummy had been with him. He'd never visited. Not once. His youngest son was stuck in hospital because of his eldest son's actions and he did nothing. Nothing. Didn't even get Sherrinford into trouble.

Angry tears welled up in his eyes and he stood up. "Myc-" he croaked.

"It's alright," the government official soothed. "It's ok. You don't have to stay."

"He… what he did. What he didn't do. I can't…"

John made his way around the bed and cupped Sherlock's cheek. He brought the younger man's head down to rest on his shoulder. The blond knew there was nothing he could say, so he didn't try, just held his husband.

Mycroft moved forward, the same anger that Sherlock had felt, but twice fold because he hadn't been able to protect his little brother. Yes, he'd been in hospital too, but he'd been practically an adult and not for as long. Sherlock had been… traumatised. And the man laid out in front of him did nothing. He soon found his hand snagged beneath Greg's.

It was then that the machines started beeping, their father's chest stopped rising and falling beneath the sheet covering it. Nurses and doctors swarmed in, encouraging them to wait outside.

They were very sympathetic when they came out to inform the two brothers. He'd died 7 minutes ago of a heart attack.

The Holmeses nodded, not sure what else to say or do.

"I need some air," Sherlock grumbled.

"'Lock," Mycroft reached out and wrapped his arm around him. "You ok?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yeah. Suppose we'd better tell Mummy."

"We'll go and see her," he said with a sad smile. "Come on."

***

As the four of them headed through the automatic doors at the front of the building they were distracted by Sherrinford being held by a few of Mycroft's minions.

"Mycroft!" He spat. "Let me in!"

The British Government glared at him. "Let him go. It doesn't matter now. He's dead," with that he walked off after his brother who hadn't stopped at the sight of Sherrinford and instead headed straight for the car. Mycroft should have made his men take his older brother with them, but he didn't want the sod's company anymore than absolutely necessary. Right now, he just wanted the company of those three there. Sherrinford could grieve their father, he knew he and his younger brother certainly wouldn't.


	8. Chapter 8

"Do you want tea, Sherlock?"

The detective looked up in surprise. He had been deep inside his Mind Palace, trying to figure out who was behind these serial killings. He'd been right, two more victims had been found the day after his father died - this morning. Greg and the rest of the Yard had found the right place, they'd just been too late. At least now they had 4 days and there were even fewer places one could be murdered at 11am because of the normal London traffic. It narrowed it down, but whoever this was, they were smart… really smart.

"Tea?" He asked stupidly.

"Stop hiding in your head. It doesn't help matters," his mother chastised him, but it was light and her soft smile lifted her words slightly.

"It's not about Father, Mummy," he responded honestly. "It's about work."

"Gregory spoke of the case this morning. Said it was rather worrisome."

"I know the pattern, I just don't know who or even why… what's the point? Apart from distracting me from the task at hand… distracting me. What if-"

"Sherlock," his mother sat down next to him. "You need to try and come to terms with what's happened with your father and not allow yourself to be distracted. Myc said you went to the hospital."

"Yes," he spoke, but he still seemed distant. He didn't want to speak of the man. Whenever he thought of him, he thought of his husband. The man who had been dragged miles away because Sherrinford had not been suitably dealt with. He knew that was not his mother's fault, but it still rankled. "It's not Father that bothers me. I understand why it happened the way it did when it comes to the last few years, it's Sherrinford I don't understand. He's been gone so many years, and truth be told when he was around he was a lousy brother. What's brought him back?"

"He knew of your father getting ill through someone at the hospital."

"The inheritance though? All this for a few estates?"

His mother looked as though she wanted to say something further, but John came and sat down next to him. He pressed an already made cup of tea into his hands, to a much approving smile from Mrs. Holmes.

She tried to change the subject, if only slightly. "And your father? When you went to see him?"

"He was asleep. Then he just… I couldn't talk to him even if he was awake. I didn't know what to say… where to start, it should have been him to start and yet I know even on his death bed he wouldn't have done… Sherrinford was there," he added almost as an afterthought. "He was outside of the hospital, some of Mycroft's minions caught him. But they let him go."

Mrs. Holmes' hand tightened on Sherlock's shoulder, the detective hadn't even noticed she'd laid it there in the first place.

"I know what he wanted, son. It doesn't matter."

There was a long almost awkward pause.

"I'll get it," Mycroft called through from the other room when the sound of the doorbell interrupted the three of them.

The youngest Holmes tried to push himself to his feet and join his brother, but John stopped him.

"It's Sherrinford," he hissed, as if that explained everything. The anger from years ago, but also the other day came bubbling to the surface rather quick.

"I don't care. Stay there. You've done enough on your ankle today. Rest it. If you go out there, there'll be a fight. You don't need that. And I certainly don't need to be clearing you up after."

He huffed at that, but sipped at his tea, watching John from the corner of his eye.

It was a bit of a surprise when Mycroft was shoved into the room with quite a bit of force and pushed into the sofa, his nose was bleeding heavily.

"Sherrinford!" Sherlock spat. "You bastard!"

"He wouldn't let me in. I had to come in. Mummy," he said inclining his head at the elderly woman, who had moved to Mycroft's side. She pulled a tissue from her pocket, handing it to him, she turned to her eldest son.

"You aren't wanted here, Sherrinford, I thought I had made that quite clear."

"It was an accident- a mistake. I was a-"

"If you say, child…" Mycroft growled.

"A mistake! You didn't even try to rescue the boys and you beat poor Myc to a pulp! I should have phoned the police on you there and then."

"You didn't because Father-"

"Your father is dead!" The words were harsh, they should have meant something dreadful, instead there sat only relief. "He should never have sided with you. I never should have let him."

"Daddy, what's going on?" Millie came wandering in and caught sight of her newest uncle, she didn't know much about him. Neither her dad, nor Uncle Sherlock spoke of him, he was obviously a mad man. Or a bad man. "Dad!" She yelled at the top of her lungs, an attempt to grab the DI's attention. Then she saw Mycroft, and ran over to him. "Did he do that?" She asked quietly.

"It's nothing, little duck, just-"

"What are you doing here?" Greg snapped from the door. "Violet, perhaps if you could take Millie upstairs, we were in the middle of her homework when she wanted a drink."

With one more glare at Sherrinford, she nodded, it shouldn't have been so easy for her to walk away from the situation, he was her eldest, the one who was supposed to go the furthest… not collapse into nothing. "Very well."

When their daughter was out the room, Greg turned on Mycroft. "He do this?"

At his nod both the DI and John moved towards him.

"When will you learn?" The doctor spat. "You're not wanted here and you will not be a part of their lives nor the inheritance."

Sherrinford's nostrils flared. "I bloody well will be! I'm entitled! And not just that I'm the oldest." He stormed out of the manor without a physical helping hand and off down the drive.

The four of them were certain that wouldn't be the last they saw of him.

"Is he stalking us or something?" Sherlock grumbled, trying to get comfortable again. He would have quite liked to have punched him again, much like he would have at the crime scene yesterday, but he knew John wouldn't let him stand up, let alone get that far. "He seems to be wherever we are," he pointed out, like he was over compensating for something.

"He's desperate," Mycroft answered, dabbing at his nose with the bloody tissue. He put previous thoughts into words. "Just how far will he be willing to go to be back in the will?"


	9. Chapter 9

"I think I've cracked the location for tomorrow." Sherlock had been inside his head the entire way back from the store.

"Where?"

Sherlock began to explain where he thought it was and how he came to that conclusion.

John was glad he had come to some conclusions at last because the case was beginning to worry him. Not just because of the dead bodies piling up in a way he hadn't really seen since his tours in Afghanistan, but Sherlock was beginning to let it get to him and that didn't help with his husband and it didn't help with the case.

"Good. I'm glad. Now take these," he shoved a handful of bags into his hands. "Put them in the kitchen."

"But-"

"Don't try it, 'Lock, or are you not a big enough boy to carry shopping up the stairs?"

He growled and snatched the bags from the doctor.

***

"Sherlock, what have I told you about leaving the window open when we go out?" John grumbled leading them into the flat and immediately feeling the breeze. Admittedly the breeze was quite welcoming after the boring task of shopping.

"A) husband dear, we are on the second floor with a perfectly flat exterior of the building and B? it was not I who left the window open."

"Well it wasn't me and it certainly wasn't Mrs. Hudson. She's in Spain visiting her niece."

John encouraged the detective down into the chair so he could check his foot over. Satisfied, he strapped it back up again and replaced his sock. He pushed some pain killers into one hand and a glass of water into the other, not bothering to ask him if he was in pain or even if he needed them.

Sherlock swallowed them without a fuss. He knew better than to try and lie to the doctor after all these years.

"I'll sort us some tea and some supper. What do you fancy?"

"Take out," he answered immediately, resting his foot up on the coffee table.

As John moved out of Sherlock's sight the rest of the room caught his attention. "Something isn't right," he called through to the other room.

"How do you mean?" John reappeared straight away. If his husband said something was wrong, something was always wrong. They'd learnt that the hard way.

The detective pushed the coffee table to the side and got to his feet. "Someone's been here."

"Mycroft? Greg?"

"No, no, they'd warn us first and I can always tell when it's them." He moved around the room, deducing certain things until he reached the window.

"Bollocks," he hissed, turning to John quickly. "Where's your SIG?"

"Downstairs. In my jacket like it always is when we're on a case. Don't worry, babe, the door's locked."

"Can you-"

The sound of a large crash and wood splintering came from downstairs. It cut off Sherlock's attempt at gathering a weapon to use to their advantage.

The crash from downstairs was closely followed by an object flying in through the window.

"Smoke bomb," Sherlock growled, grabbing John's hand.

"What's going on?"

"You mean aside from the intrusion?" Sherlock tried to keep his voice light, but the painkillers hadn't kicked in yet and his foot was throbbing with the thudding around. "Sherrinford," was the last word he could whisper before the flat door was kicked in.

By this point, sight seemed a distant thought, but the pressure at the back of their necks wasn't.

"On your knees," came the order.

Definitely Sherrinford.

They both raised their hands, their grip on the other slipping in order to do so.

When the smoke cleared it revealed 6 men in the building: one Sherlock's older brother, three with guns and two on their knees with two of the guns pressed into their necks.

"Now, you two, time to play a game with Mycroft."

"Sherrinford-"

"Shut it, baby brother. This is for the adults to deal with, seeing as you wouldn't help me."

Sherlock instantly saw his elder brother's plan. Smart, but he didn't know what the outcome would be or if Mycroft had foreseen this. He'd said the other day he wondered how far Sherrinford would go.

"On your feet, keep your hands behind your heads."

They were forced out of the building, the street lights conveniently out of action around the front of 221.

Sherlock turned to yell something at his brother, but Sherrinford punched him. "That's the beginning of payback, little brother, so if I was you, I'd keep my gob shut."

"You've changed," he hissed as he and John were shoved into the back of the car, Sherlock first.

The detective hissed as his foot collided with the side of the door.

"Shh," John soothed when the door slammed shut. He lifted his injured foot up into his lap.

"You're telling me to shh. We've been kidnapped by my insane brother!"

Nothing like Sherlock pointing out the obvious. He always complained how drab that was.

"And your other brother will find us."

Sherrinford looked over from the seat in front. "I wouldn't bet on that." He watched as Sherlock reached for the door handle. "Child lock. Moron."

"Look, brother dear," Sherlock spat. "Mummy wants nothing to do with you. You only remained part of the family because of Father. She hates you as much as I do!"

"Exactly. She hates me for what I did to you two. And Mycroft. Now if she loves you as much as Mycroft... They'll do anything to get you back. Won't they?"

Sherlock's mouth opened and closed a few times. Then he glanced at John who smiled sadly at him.

"This is going to be a long night," the doctor whispered in his husband's ear.

***

Greg stood in his office waiting for John and Sherlock to arrive. The detective had claimed that he'd finally figured out where they should be tomorrow morning. He'd text an hour ago saying they'd be there by 7 (after John had forced him to ingest food - dull).

It was quarter past and they still hadn't arrived.

It had taken many years, but they'd finally ingrained it into Sherlock that he had to phone or text for help or backup, even when he didn't think he needed it.

It was unusual for them to be late, but when they were, if Sherlock didn't text, John did. With everything going on at the moment he had a very bad feeling about this. He walked through the Yard and out into the front carpark, with still no sign of them. He pulled out his mobile and phoned Mycroft immediately. Something was most definitely wrong.


	10. Chapter 10

Both John and Sherlock woke up tied to chairs, handcuffs biting into their wrists. They were sat opposite each other and it was light enough to see each other was ok. Well, Sherlock had a bloody lip, but that was the extent of their damage. 

"'Lock! Sherlock, you alright?" John reached out with his foot and nudged Sherlock's knee. 

The detective blinked sluggishly. "What? Yeah."

"That's not reassuring me, babe."

"I'm not craving another hit of… well, whatever my brother gave us."

The doctor sighed in relief. "Good." Sherlock knew better than to lie to him about it. "And your lip?"

"It's just a cut, John, I'm fine."

"You're a sod is what you are."

The younger man snorted by way of a reply. "That was… tame, for you."

"Yeah, well, I can see your foot's hurting, I'm allowed to give you the benefit of the doubt."

He chuckled, giving the handcuffs a bit of a jerk. "You never give me the benefit of the doubt."

John inclined his head, "About time I did then." He looked around, trying to get a bearing on their surroundings, but he couldn't recognise anything remotely helpful. 

"Any ideas, Sherlock?"

The detective had been looking around as well. "Nope," he popped the p as enthusiastically as he could manage, still tugging at the cuffs that seemed to get tighter the more he fought. "Ow!"

"Stop struggling then!" John couldn't help but point out.

"What else am I meant to do?" Sherlock tilted his head from side to side, trying to ease the tension that sat in his neck. 

"You're brother is a complete twat."

Sherlock barked a laugh. "You'll get no arguments from me. Mycroft said Sherrinford was desperate now. He'd do anything."

"It's just a will. How many estates does your mother own?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Mycroft deals with all that crap. Must be half a dozen at least. We moved about a bit as kids because of Father's job. Didn't really settle down until I met you. We lived in a fair few then."

"Must have jumped about quite quickly then. We were kids."

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose-" Sherlock's reply was cut off by a side door opening and Sherrinford strutting in like he owned the place. He probably did. In his hand was Sherlock's phone and he was throwing it up in the air, catching it easily. He leant back against the desk at the side of the room. 

"How you feeling, brother dear?" The older brother asked, his concern was written on his face, but it was obvious how fake it was. "Head clear? Or are you starting to shiver?" He smirked. 

"Piss off, Sherrinford," Sherlock spat, by way of reply. He wanted nothing more than to clock the sod in the jaw again, but he didn't stand much of a chance with his wrists cuffed the way they were. It was probably why, Sherlock realised, and that thought just made him want to burst out laughing, but he managed to control it. 

With Sherrinford being the clever big brother, all tactics of escaping that Sherlock usually had under his belt were of no use. Every opportunity that could arise that would present the detective with a way out had been distinguished. His shirt sleeves had been pushed up out of reaching distance and any lose screw or nail that may or may not have been in the chair was removed. 

Sherrinford threw Sherlock's phone in the air one last time before hitting dial, a number already preprogrammed. "I'd let you do this bit Sherlock, but you might get a bit full of yourself if I untie you."

The phone connected and Mycroft's voice was immediate. 

"Sherlock, thank god, are you ok?"

Sherrinford spoke into the phone with a wink at Sherlock, "Hello little brother. How are you?"

He was rather pissed off when the government official ignored the fake pleasantries. "Sherrinford, what have you done with Sherlock?!

"Oh, he's busy."

"I am not-" Sherrinford cut his youngest brother off with a punch to the face, much to John's outraged yell. 

"Doing what?" Mycroft spat, clearly not believing a word, but then again, he wasn't meant to. 

"That is none of your concern. You should be with your Inspector by now. Go and get in your car."

"Why?" Mycroft paused for a split second. "Actually, sod that, what have you done with Sherlock and John?"

"Nothing, Mycroft, stop being a spoil sport. Now go and get in your car. You are going to drive to Mummy's and convince her that letting me back into the family is the best way to go."

"Why on earth-"

"You want little brother back, don't you?"

Mycroft's sigh was audible through the phone and then it cracked, his voice even more distant. 

"Gregory, grab your coat. We're going to the manor."

***

Mycroft and Greg walked up the front path. The government official was still on the phone, he hadn't had much of a choice in the matter. 

"Put it in your pocket Mycroft, on loud speaker and you are not to tell Mummy what is happening. Convince her to let me back without worrying her. She's not to so much as suspect Sherlock is in any danger or I break his other leg, is that clear?"

"Yes, Sherrinford!" Mycroft spat as aggressively as he could manage. It didn't have the same effect when the words were yelled down a phone. 

"Now put your phone in your pocket and knock on the door."

After that order, Sherrinford's side of the conversation fell quiet and the middle Holmes boy did as he was told, his phone sliding into his inside jacket pocket, out of sight. 

"Mycroft, dear, are you ok?" His mother appeared at the door looking immediately concerned. "You look quite pale."

Mycroft plastered a fake smile on his face. "Of course, Mummy," he took the DI's hand and tugged him into the house. 

They settled down on the sofa. 

"Do you want tea?" She offered, not sure what this was about, but knowing it couldn't be good. 

"No!" Mycroft's tone had been sharp, far too sharp for his mother so he cleared his throat awkwardly. "I mean, no, Mummy. Sorry. We've come to talk about Sherrinford. Or rather I have, Gregory is just here for me."

***

"Looks like he's not as dumb as he makes out," Sherrinford said, ending the call and removing the gag from Sherlock's mouth. It had successfully kept him quiet long enough for the much needed conversation to occur between Mycroft and Violet. 

"You blackmailed him. One brother against another."

Sherrinford actually shrugged, then bent to release the handcuffs. 

Men with guns entered the room as soon as he had the restraints off, it kept the detective in check. He quickly moved to his husband's side and removed his gag, pressing his lips to the doctor's. Then he reached around him and managed to get his wrists free. 

"Come on," he took his hand and began to lead him to the door, but Sherrinford's men stepped in the way. 

"I don't think so, little brother."

"Sherrinford…" 

The nearest man to the detective clocked him in the jaw with his fist. 

"Stick them in the cells."


	11. Chapter 11

In the Holmes manor, Mycroft glanced across the table at Greg's tracking device. When the red light finally turned green, he nodded once to his mother. He squeezed Greg's hand, not realising how much he had needed the squeeze back. He closed his eyes and waited for the plan that had been put in place to be carried out. 

"I need to speak to Sherrinford," Violet said. "He needs to know he is always welcome, things shouldn't have happened the way they did and your father's gone now…" had she done it right? When the call was disconnected, Mycroft sighed in relief. It had worked, but that didn't mean Sherlock or John were going to be let go. Sherrinford would want insurance until contracts had been signed and in the meantime he was free to do to them what he liked. If the way he had treated them when they were children had been anything to go by… Mycroft just knew he needed to find them. 

Mycroft slipped the phone from his pocket and handed it to Violet, "If he phones, which I doubt he will, but if he does, we're… putting plans in place with a solicitor, ok?"

Violet nodded once and got to her feet, pecking Mycroft and then Greg on the cheek. Then she bustled out into kitchen, taking her son's phone with her. Mycroft stared after her for a moment before following the DI silently from the room. He was already tapping away at the tracking device, trying to pinpoint the location. 

"Got it, he's 3 miles away."

"Is that it?" Mycroft slammed the passenger door as Greg got in the other side. "The cheek of my bloody brother." Of course he wouldn't leave London, he loved showing off too damned much. This was the first and last time that would actually be useful. 

Greg threw the car into gear far more roughly than was required and the wheels span as he pulled out of the drive. 

Mycroft followed the map on the screen, the red dot was his little brother. He continued directing Greg as they went. They pulled up outside an old abandoned prison. 

"How fitting," Mycroft hissed. He went to get out, but the DI grabbed his arm. 

"No, let me call for armed back up, they're on standby anyway, we'll storm the place."

"But, Gregory-"

"No. Mycroft. We do this my way or you go home."

The government official huffed, the Inspector was the only man who could say such a thing, get away with it and mean it.

So they did just that, 20 minutes later every entrance and exit to the old prison was covered and they had dozens of armed officers at their command. Greg glanced towards Mycroft for the signal and then raised his arm. All at once, there was simultaneous shouts of 'armed police' and doors being kicked in all around the block. 

Mycroft, now with a stab vest on, took off at a run after his husband. They followed four armed officers into the building while others scouted out every room they passed. 

They reached an office that was being ransacked, some of Sherrinford's men looking for something. 

"Stay where you are!" Greg yelled. The two of them looked up, then glanced at the door to see if it was a good idea. 

"Where are my brothers?" Mycroft asked, tone deadly cold. 

The two of them smirked even as they were disarmed by the police. 

Mycroft, throwing all caution to the wind, charged forward and shoved one back into a filing cabinet, his forearm across his throat.

"Where. Are. They?" He yelled. 

The guy pinned against the wall took a few steadying breaths. "The high security wing," he managed to grit out. 

Mycroft's head snapped over to his husband, "You've got someone who knows the layout of this place?"

Greg nodded. "Merstock!" He called out. 

A young woman ran in, "Sir?"

"High security, where is it?"

Mycroft had backed off of Sherrinford's minion and had thrown him into the middle of the room. It was a matter of seconds when he'd been cuffed by two armed officers and shoved to his knees. 

"This way, sir."

Greg nodded and grabbed the government official's hand. "Come on. You 6 with us," he ordered. He hated seeing Mycroft like this, but realised it wasn't likely to last long once they knew Sherlock and John were ok. If didn't come into the question. 

They followed Greg's officer down a corridor and a flight of stairs, but when Mycroft heard voices he took off at a run. 

"Myc!" The copper yelled after him. He turned to the officers. "Go on then!" He barked, giving chase as well. 

Mycroft flew straight into the cell, knocking his brother's minion that had been stood at the door, flying, then he grabbed a very surprised Sherrinford and threw him so hard into the wall, he collapsed into a heap on the floor. 

Sherlock was on his knees, whimpering in pain. John was handcuffed in the corner, thrashing, trying to get to his husband with little success. All he was doing was making his wrists worse. 

"What the fuck were you doing?!" Mycroft bellowed down at his older brother. "Bloody kicking him when he's tied up on the floor. Fucking animal! What did Mummy do to deserve you?" He aimed a kick at Sherrinford's bollocks so he doubled over, gasping for breath. 

Mycroft then bent down and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, hauling him to his feet, just to punch him so hard his nose gushed blood and dropped him back to the floor. 

"Babe!" Greg barked across the cell, releasing John from the cuffs with a pair of bolt cutters. 

The doctor fought his way free from the cuffs and threw himself across the floor to Sherlock. 

The DI ran across the room and dropped his hand on Mycroft's shoulder, he spun him around and wrapped his arms around him, pinning his own to his sides. "Calm down," he whispered. Mycroft fought his way free and Greg was close to handcuffing him just to keep him from hurting himself. He pinned his arms behind him, trying to work out what else he could do to keep him calm. 

Another broken whimper came from Sherlock and Mycroft's thrashing slowed, if Greg had known his brother would make him calm he would have dragged him across the room earlier. . 

"'Lock…" Mycroft whispered. 

"We need him to get to hospital," John ordered. "I think the sprain has become a break." The only thing stopping him from getting to his feet and kicking the living shit from the eldest Holmes was the way Sherlock was clinging onto him. His foot swelled where it was blue. 

"Alright, babe," John pressed a kiss to his temple. "Greg, get these cuffs off him."

Mycroft crouched down beside his little brother and cupped his cheek as Greg got rid of the cuffs. 

"You alright, little bro?" He managed a small smile as he kept his temper in check.

The detective managed to nod once. "I am, now."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end guys, I'm glad I got to finish it

Sherlock woke up in a private hospital bed hours later, his foot elevated on a bunch of pillows. 

In the seat next to him wasn't John, but Mycroft. 

Sensing he was being watched, the government official looked up from his laptop, offering a smile. 

Sherlock's own smile was tentative, but it was there all the same. 

"Is Sherrinford…"

"He's in custody, Sherlock. He's alive. Just," he added.

"There's something I needed to tell you. It's important, those murders…"

"It really doesn't matter, little brother, the case will wait."

"No. No, it does matter." He tried sitting up, to be in a better position to explain, but ended up crying out in pain instead. 

John rushed in at the sound of the alarms on the machines blaring. "Babe," he sighed when he saw what his husband had done, he then moved forward and turned the alarm off, before rearranging the pillows supporting his foot. He brushed his sweaty curls back from his face. "You need to keep still, ok."

"But I needed to tell you something, the case-"

"Can wait."

"No. No it can't."

"Sherlock…" it was the first time Greg had spoken since the youngest of the four had woken up. "It doesn't matter, mate."

"ItwasSherrinford," Sherlock said quickly, why was no one interested? "It's why I could never keep up. He's smarter than me and Mycroft. He was three steps ahead not one."

"But why, Sherlock?" John asked, perching on the edge of the bed. 

"To get my attention, and Mycroft's through Greg being so busy. He kept us distracted so that we didn't see the attack at Baker Street coming because we were focused elsewhere."

"How do you know, babe?" John asked, resting his hand on Sherlock's knee. "Are you sure?"

"I wasn't. Not until the other day when we were at Mummy's. I could see it on her face. She suspected…"

"You didn't say anything," John pointed out. "Then, I mean."

"I didn't want to upset her. It's always me that does. I couldn't bear doing it again… and I needed proof."

"Have you got proof now?"

"Well, it's circumstantial."

"Go on."

"Those 11 bodies, Greg…"

"What 11 bodies?"

"Exactly. Today was the day. 11am you were supposed to find them," Sherlock pointed at the clock. It had gone 4 in the afternoon. 

"Mycroft told me Sherrinford is in custody. Admit it, brother-mine, I'm right."

The government official sighed heavily, then inclined his head. "I concede it."

"You mean your psychotic brother is the reason I've been chasing my tail for weeks? With no end game in sight."

"Yep," Sherlock popped the p, looking rather pleased with himself. 

Greg sighed and dropped into the seat beside Mycroft. 

"Looks like he's added longer time to his sentence. That's blackmail, kidnap and about a dozen murders."

"If only this was America," Sherlock grumbled. "Death penalty would suit him perfectly."

"He's got a kid Sherlock," John pointed out.

"So?"

"So, Edward is to you what Millie is. To both of us."

"He's right," Mycroft sighed. "We should reach out to that wife of his and explain. I'm sure Mummy would love to meet yet another grandchild when she expected none at all."

***

3 days later when Sherlock had finally been discharged from hospital, Mycroft drove them straight to the manor. 

Mummy was stood at the door, on one side of her was Millie. On the other was Eddie. He had since demanded he be called that because Mildred, was always 'Millie'. 

Millie ran straight at her parents when she spotted them. Violet waited long enough for Sherlock to hop up to her before she wrapped her arms around him in a bear hug. 

"John, save me."

In response, Violet clipped him on the back of the head. 

"Hello, Edward," Sherlock offered with a grin, once his mother had backed off. 

"It's Eddie."

"Of course," he nodded seriously in response. 

After a few moments of what was clearly careful consideration, Eddie closed the gaps between his grandmother and his uncle. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's legs, and he dropped a hand in the boy's hair. 

"Come on then, mate," he whispered down to him. "Have you had some of Grandmummy's special cocoa yet?" 

Edward shook his head. 

"Well, you go with Millie, she knows just how to get her to do as she's told!"

Sherlock followed his husband through to the front room where Eliza was sat. 

"Sherlock, I'm so sorry, what Sherrinford did was-"

The detective held his hand up, "Its fine. It wasn't your fault. Yours or Edward's. He's a great kid."

Eliza inclined her head. "Not sure where he gets it from."

Sherlock smiled as he settled down on the doctor's lap. "From you, of course."

***

Sherlock hopped into the flat on his crutches a month later and saw an ominous envelope on the table. It had already been opened. 

"John?" He called out. 

"Hi, babe."

"Is that what I think it is."

John's grin got wider, "Yep. We've been approved to adopt. They've got a 6 month old boy who's looking for a new family. The social worker is coming over tonight."

"But that means…"

John wrapped his arms around his husband, "it means we're finally gonna be parents as well!"


End file.
